He Is
by Calliope's Quill
Summary: A oneshot, just generally describing Alex... he came out of it alive, but far from untouched.


_**He Is**_

An Alex Rider Fanfiction

A oneshot describing Alex after several of his missions. A bit angsty. None of this belongs to me, or else I'd have Alex graffiti Scorpia headquarters =D.

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He's just a boy.

Right?

No. He's so many things. He's a teenager - 14 years. On the brink of manhood really, and more mature for one thing. He's a small child in his insecurities, and an old man in what he has seen.

_[Go back to school_

_You don't belong here_

_Get out while you can_

_What do you think _you_ can do -_

_oh so much he thinks but does not answer the man_

_who sneers and dismisses him as a pathetic schoolboy_

_But is he really still one?_

_They ask what is the measure of the hypotenuse?_

_He doesn't know - in his mind, it is less important than_

_What is the measure of the jump I have to make _

_to survive]_

In action, he is a hardened veteran, who has known the weight of lives, the adrenaline of a life and death fight. Of death.

_[Eyes twisted in pain, gaping mouths_

_Burned, bloody_

_Why did you kill us?_

_Their voices surround him, echoing off the dark and light_

_Their blank stares are still accusing_

_Brown gray hazel blue green_

_The blood of_

_innocents_

_and the guilty_

_He doesn't know which category he falls into anymore]_

x-x-x-x

He's tall, graceful in a way that is a mix of both a predator and a dancer. He is also rather muscular, at first it was from playing sports. Now, it's from

_[running_

_fighting_

_another gasp, a breath of air_

_his hearts beat_

_he remembers what the general told him_

_as long as that beat continues he lives_

_ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum_

_there's no terrifying silence from his heart_

_His opponent isn't so lucky_

_The boy survives another day]_

The girls whisper and giggle as he passes in the hall, eyes down but shoulders squared, squared against the whispers, stares, derision.

_[Some think he's a sickly weakling_

_Or maybe in a gang_

_Hah, he works with much more_

_terrifying_

_monsters than the local gang members_

_Their murmurs their fear_

_What do they know_

_But he doesn't sneer, because he wishes_

_that he didn't know either_

_He shouldn't know really_

_he's just an anomaly, someone different in the crowd_

_So he walks silently, strong as a boulder_

_For it's him against the world]_

They think he's so handsome, such a good body.

They've never seen his scars.

_[A jagged line_

_A madman with knife in outer-space_

_A crazy game of cat and mouse_

_And there's one that involves a shark too_

_A small neat scar on his stomach_

_that always makes him think of almost being dissected alive_

_Or having his organs taken_

_And he feels it's so fitting_

_A small puckered round scar_

_Still with twinges of pain_

_And it's right by his heart_

_that teller of life - so he_

_survives_

_but he doesn't feel like he is _living_]_

x-x-x-x

He has dark, brown, round eyes, framed by long gentle lashes. They are clouded with thought, yet are permanently alert. A very straightforward gaze, except from when he quickly scans his surroundings (and now he knows to look for snipers too).

_[such dark brown eyes_

_contrasting between the whites of his eyes, and his fair complexion_

_they are just so dark_

_serious, flat_

_much too blank_

_he's seen so much with those eyes - joy love fear hate betrayal madness_

_those same eyes that were almost sold for money_

_(funny isn't it, how much money seems to matter_

_when it's fragile pieces of paper_

_easily blown away in the wind)_

_They say you can see someone's soul in their eyes_

_But when he looks in the mirror, he can't see his soul in his eyes_

_And wonders_

_if he still has one]_

He has blonde locks, that go every which way yet still neat (many girls envy his hair), as it falls over his eyes and hides him, but then suddenly pulling back - his neat hair tangling in the wind as it suddenly blows back, and it is almost like the wind is saying - "Look, I've uncovered him, but is he any less hidden?"

_[There are many other times the wind has blown through his hair_

_It has always been with him, one of the few things that haven't left_

_Wind, sky, earth, dark, light_

_From up on a high mountain_

_to a maze of waterways_

_And it surrounds him, as he looks down on life_

_A silent protector_

_There are other things that have tangled in his hair too-_

_slicked with sweat_

_Matted with sweet, cloying_

_blood]_

His skin is pale, smooth. It would be flawless except for the scars that twist and the dark bruises.

_[The man holds on pulling on him, punches him_

_Running, running_

_fear_

_Lives are hanging on him_

_Struggling against the cuffs_

_He's losing time, and the people are still on the balance point_

He_ is their life or death_

_So he doesn't give up_

_And ignores the sweat, pain, aches, fear_

_and his own blood mixed on him with that of others]_

Actually, considering what he gets up to, his skin is also surprisingly clean - in fact, it seems almost pink from being scrubbed hard

_[Blood_

_He'd never been all that squeamish_

_But blood_

_It surrounds him_

_Coats him, suffocating_

_There is no escape_

_Doesn't mean he can't try but -_

_oh god, why won't it come off_

_Thick red substance, rivers of it_

_That of friends and enemies_

_He knows that he is now just_

_monsterkillerweapon]_

x-x-x-x

He also had something new that he was carefully concealing - a gun. MI6 had finally decided to let him have one for safety, which he had been denied so often before.

_[He knows exactly why they've changed his mind_

_As he_

_feels the cold metal_

_smooth shape that serves as_

_The death of some salvation of others_

_They have given him this because_

_now they know_

_that he can pull the trigger_

_Boomblood_

_Men rushing over smiles -_

_good aim, you've saved us_

_But Alex is silent_

_For he knows_

_That they were saved - but he has been condemmed_

_monsterkillerweapon]_

**Fin.**


End file.
